T'was The Night Before
by heartsways
Summary: After Cora comes to Storybrooke, and after Emma and Regina have to become allies in order to defeat her, Christmas isn't quite the affair it used to be for Regina...
1. Earth Lay Cold As Stone

**Title:** T'was The Night Before…  
**Author: **heartsways  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Fandom: **Once Upon A Time  
**Pairing:** Regina/Emma  
**Disclaimer:** All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.  
**Summary: **A three-part Christmas story, set some time after Cora returns to Storybrooke, and Emma and Regina find that they have to become allies once more in order to defeat her.  
**Author's Note:** You can find me on twitter: heartsways or on tumblr

Part 1

She kept to her routine. It was the only thing that wasn't broken now. And perhaps that was why it became of paramount importance to her, representing a time when she had been in control. Or, at least, a time when she'd managed to convince herself that control was within her grasp. Because Regina had to wonder, as she pulled the boxes of decorations from the store cupboard, whether the last 28 years had merely been a reprieve: a brief sojourn from the misery that had kept her company for the years preceding the curse.

If it _was_, and if life would never be the same again now that the Savior had rent the curse apart with little more than the simplicity of a kiss, then it meant that the near-three decades before Emma's arrival in Storybrooke had been little more than a lie. And Regina knew _all_ about lies. But it was the ones that she'd told herself that seemed to be particularly foolish and hollow right now.

After years of putting up Christmas decorations in the celebration of a festival Regina neither really understood nor believed in, she'd almost managed to adopt the fabrications she'd created for the rest of Storybrooke as her own version of the truth. A life in which Christmas, like all the other holidays, held vital credence and validity.

Even if it _wasn't_ true – an honesty that lay in the broken fragments of her curse: dangerously jagged shards of promises that cut her to pieces – Regina intended to keep her routine, perhaps more resolutely than ever before. It was, she reasoned, something to stop her from going completely insane, at least.

She'd hoped that in the active participation of decorating the tree, she might forget the fact that she and Henry had chosen it together. Of course, Regina had had a real spruce in the hallway last year as well, the sweet scent of pine needles filling the air along with Henry's laughter as he scrambled underneath it in the hopes that one of the brightly wrapped boxes might just be a real gift.

But _this_ Christmas was going to be different. It didn't really matter what had happened in the past – all the memories had faded away like the last remnants of her curse, overwhelmed by the wave of light and life that Emma's kiss had engendered. Even as she set the tree in its usual place in her living room, Regina had to admit that it looked precisely like what it was: fake. A plastic totem of a world that she'd imagined up for herself and the entire town.

She was late this year; decorating a Christmas tree had become rather a low priority in light of recent events, where the town had almost been destroyed by her mother's wrath. Regina shuddered as she reached into one of the boxes and pulled out a glistening string of bushy tinsel. There had been days during that battle when she'd thought they were her last; when she'd wondered if she was to die at her mother's hand, just like she'd done when she was a child. When Cora's criticism of her had manifested itself in magic that squeezed, burned and throttled her until obedience came unwillingly at the expense of self.

But _wanting_ her mother's love and _enduring_ it weren't the same. And neither were power and freedom. By the time Regina's confusion had cleared enough for her to realize that, it had almost been too late.

The devastation Cora had wreaked across parts of the town was now covered with a blanket of snow, scarred buildings shrouded in a blanket of white that provided a cosmetic sense of rightness, if nothing else. And people had recovered, mostly. Regina had been allowed to return to her house alone and, after the bodies had been removed from where they fell under Cora's magic, there wasn't much more to be said to the Evil Queen who had risen up against her mother's seductive nature and the promise of more power than she'd ever had before.

Regina's hand paused mid-air. Nobody really knew what to say to her. Gratitude didn't come easily to the people she'd cursed, and neither did compassion. But she'd expected that. Anticipated it, even. Loneliness was, after all, the lynch pin of her life, and it welcomed her with open, empty arms as she took refuge in the home she'd made for herself in Storybrooke.

Reaching up towards the top of the tree, Regina winced. Her arm hadn't fully healed yet. The scars across her chest were still new, pink with granulating flesh but tender to the touch and she'd hidden them behind an uncharacteristically demure shirt, buttoned almost right to the top. If _she_ didn't have to see them, reflected in the mirrors of her house along with her shame, then she could almost pretend they weren't there at all.

The scars on the inside, however…they would take longer to heal.

But she clung to her routine, even on Christmas Eve; even in a house where a lone gift now lay beneath the tree, carefully wrapped and waiting for a boy who might never accept it. Glancing down at it, Regina scowled at the brightly colored paper and the bow she'd tied around it. It had been purchased with hope, back when there was still a possibility that Henry might _actually_ want to be with her. But in the days following the battle with Cora, he'd kept his distance.

Pressing a hand against her chest, Regina knew that her mother hadn't been the only one to die that day. It was a wonder her heart still beat at all, so cavernous was her chest now that Henry no longer resided there with a warmth she hadn't truly understood until it was taken away, leaving her cold as the grave.

She dropped the tinsel back into the box, suddenly feeling tired. And that was when the pounding on her door began.

To say that she was surprised to see Emma Swan standing on her doorstep would have been an understatement, particularly as the small figure peering out from behind her was blinking nervously up at her with the sort of prescient caution that any small child would offer towards the Evil Queen.

Regina looked between Emma and Henry, her mouth opening but nothing coming out.

"Hey," Emma said, mouth quirking into a somewhat self-conscious grin. "Listen, sorry for uh…for turning up unannounced."

Recovering a little, Regina's hand clenched around the edge of the door and a grim smile hardened her mouth.

"I'm surprised you had the wherewithal to knock, Sheriff," she said curtly. "Generally you appear to rather like barging into my house without an invitation."

"That was **once**," Emma frowned, holding up a finger in the air between them. "And I kinda think impending evil mothers who want to destroy the entire town sort of warranted it, don't you?"

Regina's lips pursed and she stood back a little. Emma's wild, frantic entry into her house and the ensuing pleas for help in defending Storybrooke against Cora had been less than welcome, but in the moment, Regina couldn't help wondering at how the Sheriff had come to _her_ first. How her initial instincts had brought her to the Mayoral mansion and how Emma had, quite simply, begged Regina to aid and abet them in ridding the world – _any_ world – of Cora, once and for all.

"Indeed," Regina finally said, as that apologetic smile returned to Emma's mouth once again and Henry nudged at her hip with his elbow.

"Right," Emma nodded firmly. "Uh, the kid's got something to say to you. And it couldn't wait." She glanced down at him and Henry's face screwed up into something like courage; something like solemn confession as he stepped forwards.

"I missed you."

In all the ways Regina knew she probably shouldn't believe him – all the ways in which she'd told herself that his love needed to be earned and she wasn't even halfway through doing that yet, her heart leapt in her chest, moving her entire body back a step. She clasped a hand over it, fearful that the jolt of joy it felt might pull it from her chest entirely. But as her eyes welled with tears and she held out her arms, she knew that the Evil Queen was finished with claiming hearts. Now, she was only interested in giving them. And what better place to start than with her own?

Henry's body thudded against hers and his arms slid around her waist. Over the top of his head, where one of her hands instinctively smoothed over his hair, Regina looked at Emma and saw indulgence on the Sheriff's face, even the empathy she didn't know she wanted until now.

"Thank you," she managed to force out over the growing lump in her throat.

Emma shrugged with a practiced nonchalance that she'd perfected in front of the mirror before driving Henry over here. "It's Christmas Eve," she said slowly. "Besides, Henry **might** have mentioned that you make the best apple pie in the whole of Storybrooke."

She peered past Regina into the house, lifting her nose into the air and sniffing before a gleam of satisfaction entered her eyes. It was a paltry excuse, but something good was baking in the kitchen and, despite her reservations, Emma felt her stomach growl in hungry anticipation.

"Really?" Regina intoned in a drawl that quite belied the incessant pattering of her heart. "Aren't you afraid I'll try to poison you again?" Her chin lifted a little defiantly; old habits, after all, were the hardest ones to break.

"Sure," Emma laughed half-heartedly, "because with all the magic you used against…"

She trailed off, stopped herself before she brought back memories of what she'd attempted to hide from Henry; of the things she saw flash through Regina's eyes with a disconcerted glimmer of regret, hurt, defeat.

"Well," she said, shaking her head. "I'd be surprised if you could magic up a pie crust, never mind anything else."

Henry let go of Regina, standing back and looking up at her, eyes narrowing. "You didn't…?"

"No, Henry," Regina smiled down at him and patted his head before her gaze flickered to where Emma stood. "I didn't. I made it the old fashioned way. After all," she directed towards Emma with a faint sardonic air, "it **is** Christmas."

The look they exchanged was a peace treaty, drawn in the throes of battle and confirmed in the presence of the boy who stood between them. Regina moved back, opening the door a little wider and swept a hand towards the hallway.

"Won't you come in?"

XxxXxx


	2. Deck The Halls

Part 2

Unfortunately, Henry's enthusiasm for tree decorating wasn't matched by his ability. Despite his attention to the boxes of tinsel, strings of lights and the crystal spheres that his mother had collected over the years, he was hanging them rather haphazardly on the tree. Usually, Regina directed his energetic attempts to bring festive cheer to the room, but this time she allowed him the freedom to do whatever he pleased. Occasionally, he would throw her a look over his shoulder, half expecting her to come and correct his placement of a glitterball, or the metal bells that tinkled merrily as he tied them around branches.

But Regina merely beamed indulgently, afraid that if she made a move towards him, he might scurry away and leave her all alone again. So if she _did_ notice that Henry's dubious skill with tinsel and lights meant the tree was rather lopsided, tilting much further to the left than was probably advisable, she had the good sense not to say anything.

Emma, on the other hand, wasn't quite so forgiving.

"Jeez," she murmured out of the corner of her mouth as she grasped the tumbler of Scotch that Regina handed her, "he's really making a meal out of that, isn't he?"

A tiny frown burrowed between Regina's brows as she watched Emma sip the alcohol, smacking her lips in appreciation. The way she leaned back casually against the heavy wooden sideboard behind them, so comfortable in Regina's home and clearly assuming she could take liberties left, right and center only served to deepen the lines on Regina's forehead. There was a certain swagger to Emma Swan; a sense of leadership and responsibility that had been resolutely resisted until recently, with all the transient hotheadedness that Emma had developed for her own protection.

Until memories were restored and a curse was broken.

Since then, Emma's decidedly irritating hero complex had become less of a complex and more of an actuality.

Regina couldn't say that she liked the blonde more because of it; but, as she'd maliciously comforted herself in long, resentful nights alone, it wasn't as though she could possibly like her any _less_.

That, too, was something of a lie. And Regina sighed irritably as she looked at Emma and knew that it wasn't the woman herself she hated, but rather what she represented, what she'd been born into by no fault of her own. If things were different and Emma _wasn't_ the Savior, _wasn't_ Henry's birth mother and _wasn't_ the instigator of Regina's personal downfall, then would she have noticed Emma at all? Would she have made her the focal point of all her bitterness and resentment, just as she had her mother?

Regina still had feelings for Snow, although they were horribly confused and perverted by what had transpired between them over decades of revenge. And, as Emma lifted her drink in something resembling a toast, Regina knew that she'd allowed her feelings, once again, to get the better of her. Because under the shadow of her own pain, hating people was easy; accepting them, forgiving them: impossible.

"He seems happy enough," she said curtly, as Henry threw some glitter at the tree that floated up into the air and then back onto his head. She flinched inwardly; she'd clean up his mess tomorrow, when he would be most likely spending the day with his new family. His _proper_ family, her inner critic reminded her. The one he _really_ wanted.

Emma glanced sideways at Regina, standing ramrod straight beside her, fingers clenching her crystal tumbler of Scotch like it was a lifeline and she was drowning.

"He really **did** miss you, you know," she said in a low voice, leaning sideways towards Regina.

The other woman looked at her, startled by Emma's sudden proximity and the way she seemed righteously proprietorial of Henry's feelings. It sparked resentment in her gut and Regina resisted the urge to snarl in Emma's face, just like she'd always done. As her shoulder and arm throbbed mercilessly in a rush of pain, her nostrils flared and she realized that, no matter how willing the spirit, her bark wasn't anything like it used to be. And her bite…well, that was literally non-existent now. She was tired. Weary of the constant back and forth that had typified her relationship – if _that_ was what it was – with Emma. Fighting took energy and Regina knew she had very little of that left, even though it had been weeks since…since Cora. Since the day they could never take back.

Emma had already won. There were no wars left to be fought with this woman anymore.

Sighing, Regina briefly closed her eyes and wondered if defeat would always feel this way, seeping into her bones and weighing them down with a steady drip of futility. The ice cubes in her glass clinked against the sides and it was only when she looked down that she realized her hand was trembling.

She quickly put the glass down on the sideboard beneath Emma's somewhat surprised gaze, folding her arms over her chest and turning to the blonde with one of those practiced, conciliatory smiles that simply held no agency anymore. But, like routine, it was really all Regina had to protect herself against the onslaught that Emma's mere presence represented.

"Thank you for bringing him here," she said in a distinctly regal tone.

"Uh…yeah, sure," Emma said gruffly, narrowing her gaze as she peered at Regina. "Listen, I wanted to talk to you about – "

"Hm, I thought you might," Regina cut in, causing a flush to rise on Emma's cheeks. "Really, Sheriff, you're **so** transparent. Henry might have wanted to see me, but I know that you **didn't**. So what is it that you want?"

Emma shuffled her feet, taking a fortifying gulp of the Scotch and grimacing as she swallowed far too quickly without savoring the taste. Truth be told, she'd wanted to come here well before now. Christmas Eve had arrived too fast, heralding a year that was ending and taking with it months of troubled woe and impossible separation. Emma wouldn't be sorry to see it go, but it wasn't until the festive season was upon them that she'd suddenly realized that, since the final battle had ended, she hadn't once enquired after Regina. She'd heard from the hospital, of course, attending to the wounded and patching Regina up, then sending her home.

It had been easy to allow other things to distract her: being coerced into the role of leader had been time consuming. Even if she did have an hour to spare here and there, it was gleefully eaten up by her newfound parents and Henry, of course. The time that had been stolen from them burdened her conscience, so Emma found that she was somewhat powerless to deny their demands to cook for her, eat with her, spend evenings with her.

Yes; it had been easy. Too easy. Because as Regina's eyebrows rose and she gazed steadily at Emma in that unnerving manner she had, Emma knew that she'd been remiss. Oh, Regina was doing a pretty good impression of her former self, eyes boring into Emma in the way they always had done. But in their depths, Emma saw the sadness that had followed the other woman like a specter from Fairy Tale Land, shadowing her every move, every word.

"Well?" Regina asked in a low voice.

"We need your help again," Emma sighed, the corners of her mouth turning down. It seemed distasteful, somehow, to drain Regina even more. But Snow had insisted, backed up by Charming and a host of townspeople who felt it was just retribution. That Regina, the powerful witch of their realm, was probably the only person who _could_ help.

"Of **course** you do," Regina said, a bitter smile slashing a hard line across her face.

"The curse," Emma said slowly. "It was broken and everyone remembers who they are, but they can't leave."

"I didn't make the curse," Regina shook her head, reaching for her glass of Scotch and lifting it to her lips for a long swig. "That's Mr. Gold's area of expertise, unless you've forgotten."

"I haven't forgotten. But you saw him when Cora was here; that guy's only really interested in protecting himself. He doesn't care what happens to anyone else here in Storybrooke."

Regina replaced her glass on the sideboard, glaring at the wet ring underneath it. "And what makes you think that **I** do?" she darted at Emma.

"Everything you did when your mother came to town," Emma shot back, just as quickly.

They stared at one another, neither ready to back down. Then Regina smiled sadly and clasped her hands together, fingers pressing against each other, clenching hard.

"That woman," she leaned in towards Emma, "hasn't been my **mother** for a long, long time."

But she remembered how Cora had reached for her with plaintive, grasping fingers, offering her words of love that had almost swayed her. Almost broken her will and the terrified vow she'd made to protect what she loved at all costs; at any cost. Love was always going to be her Achiles heel, in the end. Her weakness. And in the moments where she needed to be the strongest, it was her own heart that felt ripped from her chest with love's greedy fingers.

Regina straightened, lifting her chin and looking Emma in the eye with meaning.

"I think you'll find that if you and Henry want to leave Storybrooke, then you only need to pack your bags and do just that."

Emma's eyes flew open and she stared at Regina, jaw dropping in horror. It had occurred to her, more than once, that she could take Henry away from all of this; find somewhere to settle down, somewhere that magic didn't exist and where nobody threw fireballs at buildings or ripped out hearts to prove their power. But even in the moments when she'd turned her car keys over in her hand and gripped at them tightly with intent until they'd left indentations in her palm, there was always something stopping her. Something she hadn't ever really contemplated until lately.

"I would never – " she began, but Regina lifted a hand of dismissal and effectively silenced her.

"Yes, you would," she said. "To protect him, I know that you would."

They both looked at Henry now, busying himself with organizing a swathe of lights around tree branches. Instinctively, Emma and Regina inched closer together, their shoulders drawing near one another and turning slightly, lest he overhear their conversation.

"Listen, whatever you think of me, his family is here and I'm not ready to take him away from that."

"Oh yes," Regina laughed bitterly. "His **charming **family. So that's why you want to break the restraints of the town barrier. So you can all ride off into the sunset together and find your happy ending."

Anger flared in the pit of Emma's stomach. Regina's indomitable spirit had come in handy when they'd mounted their forces to defend Storybrooke against Cora's advancing magic, but she was damned if she was going to let it characterize the now, what had come afterwards, what might unfold in the future.

"Regina, can you just quit the pity party for a damn minute!" Emma growled, slamming her glass down onto the sideboard with such force that Henry turned from the tree and looked across the room with questioning eyes. Both women gave him a fake, broad smile and he cocked his head onto one side, grinning cautiously back at them before his attention was once more taken by the box of decorations he delved into.

"Jesus," Emma muttered, shaking her head. "You have got to be one of the **most** stubborn women I've ever…"

She sighed impatiently, clenching and unclenching her fist against her thigh.

"This isn't an ideal situation for either of us. The easiest thing in the world would be for me to take Henry somewhere he'd be safe; somewhere normal where magic and fairytales only exist on stupid TV shows and between the pages of a book." Emma's voice was terse and she stared down at the floor, unable to meet Regina's gaze; unable to see the terror in the other woman's eyes at the mere suggestion of Henry being taken to a place she couldn't follow.

"But do you know why I **don't**?" Emma lifted her chin and now she saw it, now she spied the uncertainty in dark brown, how it shadowed Regina's whole complexion.

"Because whatever you've done, Regina, **you're** his family too. You took care of him when I didn't…when I couldn't. Whatever anyone says, that doesn't mean nothing to me and it certainly doesn't mean nothing to Henry. That kid…Henry **loves** you. When Cora wanted you to – "

Emma stopped, pressing her lips together, frowning over the sight of Regina that was ever-present in her mind's eye, weak and bowed before her mother, unable to deliver a final blow that would end her suffering. Even in light of who Cora was, what she'd done and what she intended to do, Regina loved her. And Emma knew, more than most, what a potent curse fear and love could be, how they froze the blood and blighted remembrance and fooled a stone heart into beating again.

"How much does he know?" Regina whispered, her breath hitching over the words and the memory they conjured up.

"Some," Emma shrugged. "Not everything."

"He mustn't ever know. Please. Not **ever**."

Regina's hand reached out, fingers curling around Emma's wrist and they looked at one another for a long moment, the air around them rippling with the sort of magic only their combined, heightened emotions could produce. In a trice, Regina snatched her hand back, holding it against her chest as though it had been burned.

"He won't," Emma said, far more gently than she'd intended. But the woman standing before her had been broken enough. And what this town needed more than anything – what _Regina_ needed – was to be fixed. However slowly it happened, and however long it took, justice would be meted out. But it would be the right kind of justice; for everyone, not just for those who felt most maligned, but for those who actually _were_.

"What do you think?"

Henry's voice broke into their silent apprehension and they turned, surveying the tree. It had been adorned with literally every single decoration that the boy had been able to find in the boxes, now empty and strewn around his feet. Bending, Henry flicked a switch on the wall and the tree was suddenly shimmering with ethereal blue-white light, coming, it seemed, from every branch and every fabricated leaf.

Grinning brightly, Henry held out his hands in such a showy gesture that Emma couldn't help the blurt of laughter that escaped her lips. She'd never really been particularly enthused about Christmas; most of them spent in the foster system had been filled with a sense of disappointment, not festive cheer. But for Henry's sake, she'd decided that this year would be different. And so it was, she thought ruefully. Even if the tree he was presenting to them looked like Christmas had vomited in the corner of Regina's living room.

"I dunno, Henry, are you sure it's…you know, **Christmassey** enough?" she asked, winking as Henry pushed out his bottom lip and glared at her in mock reprove.

"Mom?" He turned to Regina, and the word was out of his mouth before he realized that it was habit that had spoken for him. But the beatific smile that spread over Regina's mouth made his chest warm, and he glowed underneath it, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Is it…is it okay?"

It really wasn't. The finesse that Regina applied to almost every part of her life was woefully lacking, the tree listing dangerously to one side under the sheer weight of the crystal balls, gleaming tinsel and shiny, waxy red apples that Regina had bought one year in a fit of nostalgia.

"It's perfect," she told him, and he scampered happily across the room towards her, allowing her to reach out and smooth her hand over the top of his head.

He reached behind his back, bringing out a huge, glass star that glittered as he turned it over as though it were made of pure light.

"You should put the star on top," he told her. "Because that's what you do every Christmas."

The lump that formed in her throat ached painfully, and Regina turned away, brushing beneath her eyes with her fingertips. _Yes_, she thought to herself; the lies that love told her had always been the most hurtful, the ones most aptly designed to damage. Her heart clenched inside her chest and she took a breath, one hand flattening out on the sideboard as she swayed under the unstoppable tide of emotion.

"Later." She smiled at Henry and glanced sideways at Emma. "I think you deserve a slice of freshly baked apple pie for your efforts."

Emma cleared her throat and Regina rolled her eyes. "Perhaps I can even manage one for your…for the Sheriff as well."

She turned to the blonde and lifted her eyebrows. "Will you stay?"

There was a plaintive tone to her voice, mingled with the anticipation of rejection that could only come from a woman whose life lay in pieces behind her, filled with the detritus of love yearned for and ultimately lost.

Reluctantly, Emma could hazard a guess as to why she hadn't come to see Regina before now. In her heart she'd known how lonely the other woman must be; how empty her life must have seemed here without Henry in it. Being the orchestrator of that solitude and feeling responsible for it had been easier to push to one side when it wasn't standing in front of her, glassy-eyed and pathetically hopeful.

"Sure," she said, as Henry let out a delighted laugh and raced off towards the kitchen.

"Now, tell me," Emma added as Regina led her from the room, "is this regular apple pie or forbidden fruit? I figure as the Savior, I should probably be careful."

She was joking – _mostly_ – and luckily when Regina spun around, there was a distinctly cynical sarcasm in the curve of her mouth. Seeing it was almost comforting, and Emma found herself leaning towards it, towards Regina, towards a reminiscence of what they used to be to one another.

"Believe me," Regina said as they reached the doorway, "there's nothing I'd like more than to put you to sleep. It's probably the only way to get you to keep your inappropriate comments to yourself."

At Emma's narrowed gaze, Regina's smile became a fraction more genuine. "But the only thing you really need worry about, dear, is an expanding waistline, not magic. I spent the afternoon rolling pastry, not plotting your death. After all," she smirked, "it **is** Christmas."

XxxXxx


	3. Winter Wonderland

Emma scraped the plate with her fork and licked the last, sweet pieces of pastry from it, flavored with the cinnamon tang of spiced apples. She put the plate onto the low coffee table in front of her and stared at it. Three helpings of apple pie had pretty much disappeared under Regina's watchful eye, and Emma hadn't been able to help herself. She figured that that was pretty much par for the course when it came to Regina. Emma had always been somewhat lacking in self control around the other woman, usually to her own detriment.

Tonight, however, her mumbled appreciation put a satisfied smile onto Regina's face as she shoveled apple pie into her mouth and winked at Henry, doing exactly the same.

It was only later, when the boy, curled up in the huge armchair opposite the couch, began to yawn that they realized the late hour and how Emma and Henry had stayed far past their intentions. By the time Henry's eyelids began to droop, Regina suggested that Emma take him home.

Emma reached forwards, licking the tip of her finger and wiping it across the plate's surface, just in case there were some remaining crumbs. Sticking her finger back in her mouth, she sucked on it thoughtfully. She hadn't planned on Henry staying the night, particularly not as things had been so tenuous with Regina of late. And the text she'd received from Snow had indicated that when she returned to their apartment, her mother would have more than a few choice words to say to her with regards to her impromptu decision.

Oddly enough, Emma didn't really care. Maybe it was her teenage rebellious streak resurfacing, or maybe it was just that Regina had looked so pathetically grateful when Emma told Henry he could sleep here tonight; either way, she'd allowed Regina to usher a sleepy Henry up the stairs towards his old room.

It seemed like the right thing to do.

"There's more in the kitchen," a voice came from the doorway. Craning her neck round, Emma pulled her finger from her mouth with a tiny popping noise. Regina appeared serene, the planes of her face smooth where earlier they had been lined with worry and doubt. Regina gestured towards the empty plate on the coffee table and lifted her eyebrows.

"If you want more pie," she said, moving into the room and hovering by the end of the couch. "There's some left."

"Oh," Emma let out a slightly embarrassed laugh and shook her head. "No, that's…that's okay. I shouldn't. But seriously, Regina, are you **sure** you didn't put any magic into that pie because it was…"

She took a breath and let it out in an appreciative stream. "It was **really** good."

Regina gave a tight smile and nodded. "Thank you," was all she said. She moved stiffly towards the other end of the couch from Emma, lowering herself onto the broad cushion and clasping her hands together on top of her knees in a prim sort of gesture.

"Did the kid go to sleep okay?" Emma stretched out her legs, leaning her head back against the plush couch.

Regina nodded. "Yes, he seemed quite pleased to have his favorite blanket – "

She stopped abruptly, a tiny hum of reproach for her own enthusiasm emerging from between tight lips. Then she merely nodded at Emma again. "He's sound asleep."

"Okay," Emma squinted along the length of the couch at Regina. She looked different these days; ever since she and Snow had come back from Fairy Tale Land, Regina's sharp edges appeared to have softened. Every once in a while, before Cora had arrived in Storybrooke, Emma had seen vulnerability in Regina's eyes, in her stance, in the abject surrender of her posture. And then she'd seen how hard Regina tried to hide it beneath the stoicism upon which she'd always relied.

But it was there, nonetheless, in the deep brown gaze that flickered towards Emma before moving away again, darting around the room before finally coming to rest on her joined hands. Regina seemed resolutely determined not to look at Emma; hell, the blonde thought to herself, she seemed pretty determined not to acknowledge her presence _whatsoever_.

"So...Marco told me he wants to put together a working committee to help restore some of the buildings that were…uh…you know, when Cora was…the buildings she kind of – "

"Yes, dear," Regina interrupted Emma's rambling attempt at conversation with a curt nod of her head. "I'm **more** than aware of the devastation she caused."

It wasn't meant to be a statement of personal fact, although the shadows that fled through Regina's gaze sent a cold chill down Emma's spine and she shifted as the other woman stiffened even more, if that was possible, her fingers clenching together on her lap.

"Well," Emma finally murmured, half to herself, "this isn't awkward. At **all**."

A smile of grim amusement quirked the corner of Regina's mouth and her head jerked back on her neck. They'd passed awkward _months_ ago, when all the secrets she'd tried so hard to keep shrouded in her past had been uncovered by her mother in one fell swoop. Cora had come to Storybrooke and brought with her the immutable fact that Regina had always feared: that one's past could _never_ truly be escaped.

_Cora stands before them, almost gigantic in her billowing cloak and the smile that slashes across her face. It's as cruel as Emma's ever seen Regina's features – if not more so. She can't suppress the shiver that works its way down her spine._

_But it's Regina who catches Cora's attention as she moves through the plumes of purple smoke that wind around her, serpentine caresses emanating from her hands to strike at those who would dare oppose her._

"_Dearest," Cora says, and if Emma's not mistaken, a strangled groan emerges from Regina's throat. "Don't you know by now? Wherever you go, no matter what you do, I'll always find you."_

Regina stood, making her way over to the sideboard and reaching for the decanter of whiskey again. She'd been doing that a lot lately; relying on the numbing effects of alcohol along with the painkillers they'd handed over for her shoulder. Sometimes, if the pointed tips of her feelings were dulled by the fog that descended late at night, she could fool herself into thinking that she actually felt less. That the pain might subside for real and not simply in her hazed imaginings.

"Has he asked many questions?"

The decanter clinked against her tumbler as she poured the whiskey and tried not to imagine the disappointment Henry would feel if he only knew of her inadequacies; how she'd given in at the final test, bowed under the burden she was forced to shoulder.

"Not really," Emma answered, and her voice was suddenly close behind Regina, the warmth of her body discernible. "What would he ask? She's – she's gone. That's really all that matters."

Regina laughed bitterly and nodded. "Yes, I suppose it is." She lifted the tumbler to her lips and swigged heartily, eyes closing as the alcohol burned its way down her gullet.

"He thinks you were brave," Emma said, as Regina turned and met her gaze, brown eyes a little more glassy, a little less hardened against her. They were standing close enough for Emma to catch the scent of alcohol on Regina's breath as the other woman let out a sigh of self-criticism.

"I'm sure someone will disabuse him of **that** notion," Regina said harshly, fingers tightening around the tumbler of whiskey. "Brave is possibly the **last** word I'd use to describe what happened out there."

_Cora uses magic to break through the barriers that Emma and Regina have erected together, hands clasped to create magic in the only way they know how. Together they're stronger than they are alone, but somehow, the magical boundaries they've built are shattered with ease by Cora, bearing down upon them._

_Even as Emma lifts her sword and steps forwards, Regina holds up her hand. This is _her_ fight. It's _always_ been hers. If anyone has the right to end it, then it's surely going to be her._

"_You always complained that I never gave you any freedom, dear," Cora says, grasping Regina's hand in a mockery of maternal love, but twisting it with a sudden burst of strength so that Regina is forced to her knees, face contorted in pain. Emma hears the snap of a bone, somewhere; the ways in which Regina can break so easily._

"_Here's your choice," Cora continues smoothly, that rictus smile plastered across her face. "A boy who's never loved you, or a mother who loves you dearly. I can give you __**everything**__, Regina, whereas he…well, __**he**__ won't even give you the time of day, will he?"_

Regina sipped her whiskey again, shuddering at the memory. The ring she had worn for decades made a metallic tinkle against the glass and she drew in a breath, closing her eyes momentarily. Her shoulder throbbed mercilessly, her mouth forming a twisted line of discontent at the pain.

"She would have killed you, you know," Emma blurted suddenly, beset with the guilt of what she'd done and who she'd protected.

"I know," Regina said slowly, tipping back her glass and swallowing the last remains of the alcohol she'd poured. It didn't help. Nothing did, really.

As she replaced the glass on the sideboard, Regina turned, proffering a tight smile towards Emma.

"She asked me to choose. So I did," she said in a strained tone. "I couldn't let her hurt Henry. Even if I'd lost him, I wasn't going to let her try to ruin what happiness he'd found."

"Regina…" Emma took a step closer but Regina waved her hand in the air, dismissing the other woman's concern as though it was nothing. As though she hadn't longed for someone – _anyone_ – to show just that for so long, that to see it now was almost anathema to her.

Pushing past Emma, Regina headed across the room and stood in front of the Christmas tree, lopsided and horribly garish with all the decorations she'd packed away at the bottom of boxes for a reason. But it was Henry's tree. The boy she was willing to sacrifice herself for.

And would again.

"You know," Emma's voice came from the other side of the room, behind her. "All my life I wondered why my parents didn't love me enough to keep me. But your mother, Regina. She – she loved you too much. And not in the right way."

"She loved me the only way she knew how."

"And you loved her, didn't you? Even after everything she'd done, you still…you still loved her."

_A blade is a much more effective executioner's tool than bullets, Emma thinks. It doesn't kill the way she's seen on the movies, with repeated hacking and noisy sound effects. No; the blade whispers through skin and flesh. It separates bone and arteries with little more than a whoosh of air. _

_It's much easier than Emma has imagined. But when she sees how Regina would offer herself up to protect Henry, how nothing matters more than the boy they both love beyond the telling of it, Emma knows that she really doesn't have a choice. That Regina's life isn't expendable, no matter what crimes taint her past. That Cora has kept Regina as much a prisoner as Regina has the citizens of Storybrooke all these years. And that freedom has to be offered to everyone in equal amounts._

_After all, she _is_ the Savior. And isn't that what Saviors are supposed to do?_

"She always told me that love is weakness, you know," Regina commented, Emma striding across the room to stand by her in front of the tree.

"Yeah," Emma said dryly. "She tried telling me the same thing. So I'll tell you what I told her – that it's a strength. It'll **always** be a strength."

"You sound disturbingly like your father," Regina murmured, but it was without malice. She glanced sideways at Emma and caught the sincerity in green eyes, how Emma was smiling at her in a way that nobody had in decades.

"Charming?" Emma supplied with a smug grin.

"I was going to say optimistic to the point of ignorance but…" Regina shook her head, half-smiling. Of all the people who could save her – all the people who wanted to – it just _had_ to be a Charming, didn't it?

"But?" Emma smirked, folding her arms over her chest. She was rather enjoying seeing the playful sparkle in Regina's eyes. It sure beat the heck out of having watched helplessly as the woman bent over the corpse of her mother, wailing to the skies for all the love she'd ever yearned for from Cora; all the love she'd told herself the woman might have, underneath it all.

"Well it would be rather churlish of me," Regina said with a tiny sigh. "It **is** Christmas, after all. Goodwill to all men and such."

"Uh huh," Emma rolled her eyes, sauntering towards the doorway that led out to the hall. "And does that extend to goodwill to all Charmings, too?"

She came to a halt under the doorframe, Regina standing opposite her with a distinctly dubious expression on her features.

"I may be open to some festive cheer," she said curtly, "but I haven't **quite** lost my mind, Miss Swan."

Attempting to pull herself up to her full height and cross her arms firmly over her own chest as a scant indication of righteous defiance only served to make her shoulder throb painfully. As the hurt rippled across her face, Regina felt, rather than saw, Emma bend towards her, frowning.

"How's the arm?"

"I'll live," Regina replied, a little haughtily. But it crossed her mind that, in a house where Henry slept soundly upstairs, and where she was being offered comfort by the daughter of her once greatest enemy, she just might. That living, as opposed to fighting for the right to merely exist, might _actually_ be an option now.

"Listen," Emma said, reaching out and putting her hand tentatively onto Regina's forearm, "I saw what she did to you. Heard what she said. You don't have to – you don't have to pretend it didn't happen."

The pressure of her fingers sent a wave of sensation across Regina's skin, the unmistakable tingle of magic that shivered down their spines and glowed briefly in their eyes. As she lifted her gaze to meet Emma's, Regina's eyes glittered with a purpling hue and she smiled in its receding wake.

"I'm not pretending anything," she said in a low tone, looking down at where Emma was touching her. "**You** were the one who ended her when I couldn't. When I…I crumbled."

"No," Emma whispered. "You were the strongest of all, Regina. Because you still loved her. Just like you still love Henry."

They stared at one another for a moment, magic swirling around them in a heady haze of almost visible smoke. Magic had always been Regina's domain, clutched against her chest in a selfish, possessive manner that proved her unwilling to share the secrets of her craft with anyone else. But with Emma, it was torn from her whether she wanted to relinquish it or not, and enveloped in a power that was so strong it near-blindsided Regina.

"Please don't tell him I was weak," Regina begged in a guttural tone.

"I won't," Emma murmured, "because you weren't."

"Emma…"

Her name sounded different on Regina's lips now, Emma thought. No longer akin to a curse word, or a sound intended to denote derision or hatred. Now it was an almost musical exhalation, a delicious taste on the other woman's tongue. Different. Welcome. Not like it had been in the days before the curse was broken. _Nothing_ like that at all, actually.

Standing back, Emma let go of Regina's arm and the magic between them faded to a dull buzz prickling the backs of their necks. She glanced upwards, more borne out of a desire to evade the curious expression in Regina's eyes more than anything else. Above their heads, a sprig of mistletoe was attached to the doorframe and Emma's cheeks puffed out as her gaze narrowed.

"Jesus, Henry," she muttered, Regina's eyes following hers to rest upon the offensive decoration. "When did the kid have time to put that up?" Emma wondered aloud.

"He didn't," Regina told her. "I mean – we don't – " She stopped herself as Emma's eyebrows rose and she shook her head a little, gazing now at Regina rather than at the mistletoe in faint interest and not a little amusement.

"It's not something we usually have in the house."

"So where did it come from? And wait – what do you mean, not something you usually have in the house? You observe every other tradition at Christmas but not this one?" Emma squinted up at the mistletoe again, wondering how it managed to sparkle. Maybe Henry had thrown some glitter on it, she mused. He'd certainly tried to throw it everywhere else.

"And just whom do you suggest I would be kissing?" Regina seemed defensive, but even Emma heard the note of sadness in her voice; how worthy suitors had been few and far between in this land. Lovers that Regina wanted to kiss under the mistletoe, even more scarce.

"I don't know," Emma shrugged. "I mean, it's up there for a reason, right?"

"Well **I** certainly didn't put it there!" Regina retorted. "And neither did Henry."

"So…what, then? It got there by – "

Emma paused, mouth open, realization dawning on her own features at the same time it hit Regina. _Magic_. The only way something appeared from nothing. Unpredictable, unreasonable and _distinctly_ unhelpful, Emma thought, staring blankly down at her hand.

"No." Regina's denial was quick, and so firm that Emma's gaze fled to her face and she let out a surprised blurt of laughter.

"No?" Emma echoed. "Just like that?"

"Just like that," Regina nodded sharply. "Now, if you want to leave, Miss Swan, I'll wake Henry and – "

"No, you won't," Emma said gently. "I can come by in the morning and pick him up. I know you got him a gift. Besides, he spent long enough decorating that monstrosity of a tree. I figure he should get to see it on Christmas morning. With you."

She could barely look at the gratitude flooding Regina's features; barely contemplate how important a gesture it was she'd just made. More than saving the other woman, more than killing her mother. More than _any_ of the heroic deeds that Emma might have listed in order to gain Regina's thanks, _this_ was what earned her a smile so genuine, so beautiful, that Emma almost forgot herself completely.

"Thank you," Regina said, as Emma cleared her throat and shrugged, shifting uncomfortably in the doorway.

"No, really," Regina put her hand over Emma's and squeezed gently. "Thank you. For everything."

Fighting magic was in Emma's blood now; in Regina's, too. But fighting providence seemed a little too much to ask, even for a Savior. So as the mistletoe above them appeared to sparkle again, and as the magical hum over their skin increased, options appeared slim on the ground.

Leaning in, Emma pressed her lips to Regina's, feeling resistance at first and then a sighing surrender towards her own mouth. It wasn't much of a kiss, all told: too hasty, too tentative, too nervous. But as Emma stood back, blinking at the beatific face before her, something got her thinking that maybe it wasn't the kiss itself that really mattered, but the intent behind it.

And _that_, Emma reminded herself, was what had driven both of them along this path all along, wasn't it?

It looked like Regina was gathering up enough bluster to blow them both back to Fairy Tale Land, her mouth working silently around words that Emma suspected might possibly ruin the moment – or whatever it was – between them.

"Before you say anything," she started, holding up a hand in the air, "that was impulsive. But there's this **thing** between us, Regina, and don't say you have no idea what I'm talking about because I **know** that you do. And it's not just that, there's all this – this **magic** that happens and I know you think I'm an idiot but even **I** know that it must **mean** something."

Her words came out in a rush, a babble that took Regina quite by surprise. By the time Emma stopped, Regina's initial desire to battle her way through the feelings the other woman instilled in her had all but disappeared. Instead, she found herself horribly, unfathomably speechless.

"So this was…I dunno…**something**. And maybe nothing. I'm not sure yet. But it wasn't – wasn't so terrible and if this **thing**," Emma pointed upwards with a jabbing finger towards the mistletoe, "is still here when I come for Henry in the morning then…then it might happen again."

She nodded and squared her shoulders, determination proving far more victorious than the sense of creeping horror in her chest. Because even in the most fantastical fairytales, the White Knight and the Evil Queen surely weren't meant for one another. _Were_ they?

_Regina's face is almost green from the pain of her broken arm and she cradles it against her chest as Emma approaches._

_There are shouts from down the street: Snow and Charming with their cohort of dwarves, rushing to the fore in a desire to protect their precious princess. But Emma barely hears them. Her attention is captured by Regina's tear-streaked cheeks, the way sobs still hitch her shoulders and how she reels back from the lifeless body of Cora, but can't quite bring herself to move away from it._

"_Don't…" Regina mutters, and Emma isn't sure whether she is talking to her, or just to the world at large._

"_I don't want him to see me like this," Regina says. And when she looks up at Emma, the blonde understands who she means. Henry. It's _always_ Henry._

"_He won't. I promise."_

_Regina laughs, but it sticks in her throat and emerges as a gurgle that she gulps over, wincing in pain as Emma's hand slides over her good shoulder._

"_You killed her," she says to Emma, who drops her sword onto the ground where it lands with a clang of metal and bends to help lift Regina to her feet. "You should have let her kill me instead. That was what she wanted."_

"_Right," Emma grunts, leaning Regina's limp body onto her own, squinting through the smoke to see if there's anyone who can help. "And what would be the point of __**that**__?"_

"_You'd be rid of me. All of you. At last."_

"_Okay, I'm going to blame this on the fact that your arm must be hurting like hell," Emma says as she heaves Regina up a little, getting a firmer grip around the other woman's waist. "But that's the biggest pile of horseshit I've heard from you, Regina. And let's face it, __**that's**__ saying something."_

"_So…so aggravating," Regina whispers, as shadows begin to creep around the edges of her vision and she feels the fight disappear from her very bones like snow after rain._

"_That's right," Emma nods, a little breathless but making a valiant effort to keep Regina awake. "Which is why you love me."_

Emma was almost at the door when she heard her name uttered in a low, fearful tone. Spinning around, she saw Regina moving towards her, hands worrying at one another and a deep frown etched on the other woman's brow.

"I don't understand," Regina said, shaking her head and looking for all the world like the lost child she must have once been under Cora's version of maternal love. "Why would you…why would our magic create...well, **that**?"

She jerked a hand behind her in the general direction of the mistletoe and the site of her real undoing, at last. Emma shrugged helplessly and held out her hands in supplication, because although she'd been warned that magic in this land was unpredictable, nobody ever told her that it would find rationality in something that presented no logic whatsoever.

"I don't understand it either," she replied. "Maybe it was something we both wanted."

Regina snorted and rolled her eyes – disdain her final weapon in the armory that Emma had consistently and methodically whittled down to almost nothing.

"Or not," Emma sighed. But she knew that Regina's response hadn't been imagined, and neither was the gleam of alacrity she saw now in the other woman's eyes.

"Who knows?" Emma threw up her hands. "Maybe it's the Christmas fairy or something, you know, being mischievous."

"Really, dear," Regina sniffed. "There's no such thing. And I take exception at the suggestion that **I** would want – "

"Regina," Emma said, a little more gently and with a little more consideration than she'd felt in the last few minutes. "Your whole life, all you've **done** is want. Me too. So I get it, okay?"

Reaching for the front door, Emma offered Regina a conciliatory smile. "I'll come for Henry in the morning. Maybe the mistletoe will be gone by then and you won't have to admit that what just happened…uh…happened."

Regina's lips pursed but she was wise enough not to say anything. But she secretly wondered what sort of shelf life their conjoined magic might have, particularly when it came to the engendering of new traditions in her home. In her life.

"But," Emma poked her head back around the door, a wicked expression on her face, "if it's still hanging in the doorway tomorrow morning, then…well…it **is** Christmas, Regina."


End file.
